On the Meaning of Family
by mrsProbie
Summary: Dr. Amelia Granger has Hermione spill her entire story to her Uncle Aaron and Aunt Haley. After all, if Hermione's family is attacked, the Hotchners are in almost as much danger as the Grangers. Hotch/Haley divorce in the future. First two chapters edited 8/8/17.
1. Chapter 1

"I don't care about whose DNA has recombined with whose. When everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching - they are your family." - Jim Butcher, Proven Guilty

* * *

Amelia Granger had spent her youth with her head in the clouds - of course, back then she had still been Amelia Hotchner. She had been quite young when she fell in love with Colin Granger, a British expat with a daring accent and the same career. She'd been completing her dentistry residency at Johns Hopkins when he had come along, a postgrad from a university she'd never heard of, and swept her off her feet.

Her younger brother, Aaron, had still been in undergrad when she'd run away to England. She didn't think she could have brought herself to leave if he had still been living at home. Since then she had visited once or twice a year, always bringing Colin and, once she was born, little Hermione. It had been hard to keep Hermione's secret from him, although it did get easier after her first year of school, when she could control it. She was always surprised that Aaron had never noticed something… off, about her family. He was a profiler for the FBI, for god's sake. She assumed if they had been in the country more often, it would have been more of a problem.

The Grangers were on their first visit of the year with the Hotchners; she could never believe how beautiful Haley was, all grown up, and how much cuter little Jack was getting every day! Hermione had missed the last two summers' visits, but she'd surprised her parents by asking them to book a seat on the flight for her as well. She missed Aaron and Haley, she'd said, and hadn't even met her baby cousin.

The three had spent the last six days recovering from jet lag, sight-seeing, and generally catching up with the Hotchners. Aaron had been away for work for the first three, but as soon as he returned from his case in California, he fell right back into the familiar routine of the Grangers' visits: deciphering British slang, pouring extra glasses of wine at dinner, and leaving the door to his study open so that Hermione could peruse his bookshelves like she had as a little girl.

Except, well, Hermione wasn't perusing the bookshelves. She wasn't reading at all, and certainly not into the early morning hours that she used to. That morning at about three, Amelia crept past Hermione's delegated pull-out sofa bed in their little hotel suite, trying her best not to wake her daughter on her way to the bathroom, only to find her lying awake, just staring at the ceiling. She'd been doing that a lot lately. Amelia resolved to ask her about it before she left home to be with her friends for the summer.

Much too soon, their last dinner at the Hotchner household arrived. They were going to make an early night of it, then get to the hotel and pack so that the morning could pass smoothly. (Amelia hated international flights with a passion, particularly ones at seven in the morning. Honestly, the things she did for family.)

Aaron and Haley kept glancing sidelong at Hermione throughout dinner. She was convincing Jack to eat his mashed vegetables, but it was hard not to notice the way her grip was white-tight on the spoon she was offering him. Through the entire dinner, she looked like she was trying to do a particularly difficult arithmetic problem in her head. It was while Haley was plating cake for dessert that Aaron finally spoke up.

"Hermione, are you feeling okay?"

Her daughter's face contorted into what she must have hoped would constitute a smile. She nodded. Amelia frowned.

"Let's go to the kitchen, dear," she said quietly. "We'll get you a glass of water." Hermione opened her mouth as if to argue, but shut it again at the look Amelia was giving her.

Once in the kitchen, Amelia whispered, "I want you to tell them."

"What?" Hermione's eyes were almost comically wide.

"They're your godparents. Your father and I have been reading the papers, and we know it's dangerous; if something happens to us, they need to know the full extent of it. If you or your dad or I are hurt or- or worse, they need to know to be safe." She almost choked on the last word.

"They won't know how to be safe," Hermione argued, "and I don't even have a wand permit for here."

"Aaron's in the FBI, he could find someone to help them. Didn't you say that your Minister works with the Muggle one? It must be the same here," she reasoned.

"Mum, I have a plan, and it doesn't involve putting anyone extra at risk," Hermione said briskly.

"There's got to be some kind of magical government here, maybe Congress or a Department, something that Aaron could ask for help." Amelia wasn't going to back down without a fight. "I don't want to lose any part of my family in this because of a lack in communication."

The argument continued in low hisses, but after liberal guilt-tripping and (mostly) sound arguments, Amelia won out. Hermione sighed, resigned, before stepping back into the dining room with a small ahem.

"Amelia," Aaron said before Hermione could get a word in edgewise, "Haley and I want you to stay with us." He was deadly calm, and next to him Haley sat silently with pursed lips and a knit brow.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

His gaze shifted smoothly to his niece. "Do they know the extent of your involvement, politically?"

Amelia didn't know what he was talking about, but it seemed that Hermione did from the way that she slipped her hand into the back of her waistband and gripped her wand. "What do you mean?" Amelia demanded.

"There was a terrorist attack at her school," Aaron explained, eyes still on Hermione. "Targeting people like her. People died."

Amelia froze, processing, but Colin was immediately furious, as he usually was when it came to safety incidents at Hogwarts. "I knew we should have taken you out after the troll!"

"Dad, I-"

"And the snake!" Colin continued, oblivious to the confusion painted on Aaron and Haley's faces. "The tournament with the dead kid, and the bloody Department of Mysteries, whatever that is, and-"

"How do you know what happened?" Hermione demanded of Aaron. She looked to Haley and repeated herself: "How do you know?"

"My brother is a wizard," Haley explained, more to Amelia than to Colin. "He's the only one in our family, all no-Majes but him. Since you moved to England, he started paying more attention to the news coming from over there. It started off as a passing interest, you know, with his brother-in-law's family being there." Here, she looked meaningfully at Hermione. "Then things got scarier. We didn't realize you were even at Hogwarts until that big tournament. The one with the dead kid," she added, glancing at Colin. "They did a profile on Harry Potter afterwards, and Hermione was mentioned a lot. Turns out she was in the papers through that whole year, mostly the gossip columns apparently." She rolled her eyes. "Matt says he'd have found out sooner if he'd put his pride aside and read gossip rags."

"None of what they published about me was true," Hermione said sharply, bringing the tension back into the room. "Ms. Skeeter has since stopped publishing, in case you haven't heard."

"I'm sure she had a sudden change of heart," Aaron said, cocking a brow. Hermione looked pointedly away, and Amelia wondered what the whole story was.

"They can't stay with you," Hermione said bluntly. She took her seat back at the table and interlaced her fingers, then looked up at Aaron with an unfamiliar (to Amelia) glint in her eyes. "I already have a plan for them."

"And what is that?" she heard herself demand.

Hermione looked at her mother and chewed her lower lip for a brief moment. "I was going to send you to Australia." The air felt heavier. "You've always wanted to go to Australia."

"We don't want to live there, Hermione!" Colin exclaimed. She whipped around as if she'd forgotten he was in the room, and neither Amelia nor Aaron missed the slight twitch of her hand toward her wand at the sudden noise. "We like kangaroos, not emigration!"

"You may not want to live there, but you do want to live, right?" Hermione spat angrily. "You don't have much of a choice here, I'm afraid."

"You'll have to emigrate somewhere," Aaron said, and both older Grangers turned and stared. He grimaced, while Hermione's livid expression tempered slightly. "Hermione's just confirmed that Matt's information was right. She's closer to the situation than we are, and she came to the same decision."

"Matt drove home how dangerous it is there right now," Haley said quietly. "He also guessed that Hermione wouldn't want to stay away from it."

Colin's eyes slid over Hermione's guilty face, and he sighed deeply. "You were going to send us to Australia," he murmured. "You weren't going to come with us to Australia."

"I am Harry Potter's best friend," Hermione said, voice like ice. "They would find me anywhere. They would find you anywhere."

"Do you want to stay with them instead?" she asked, and on a deep level it burned Amelia to see her daughter like this, tired and on-edge and feeling like she had to make these choices for them, for the people who were meant to take care of her. "I already have a set of travel documents forged, but the identification should work anywhere, and I'm sure Uncle Aaron could help with getting you into the country."

"I'd be glad to," Aaron confirmed. He paused, mouth hanging open a half inch while he searched for the right words, and then said, "I want you to be safe. All three of you."

Hermione remained expressionless, unnaturally so, and Amelia knew instinctively that her daughter was doing her best not to show any emotion. It didn't come easily to Hermione. Since she was a little girl, Hermione had been one to wear her heart on her sleeve; god knew how many days she'd come home from primary school bawling her eyes out or shaking in anger, or how many letters Amelia had gotten detailing why she wasn't speaking to Harry or Ron at any given moment.

"If the situation is really this delicate," Colin said, "I'm not sure I want to stay near you at all." When Haley started to argue, he talked over her: "You have a child. If these Death people looked for us and found us anywhere near you, it doesn't sound like they would hurt just us. Hermione, what do you think?"

Hermione bit her lip but otherwise continued not to show any sign of stress. "Uncle Aaron should still help. He's a valuable resource, after all." Her brows knit together briefly, then relaxed. "Australia has a limited magical government, and since gaining its independence, it's secluded itself. I'll work with some of my Ministry connections to find a place with strong ties to the United States that's still actively denouncing the direction Britain is going." She looked to Aaron. "In a few days, if I give you a name in the MACUSA - sorry, their Magical Congress -" she explained to Amelia and Colin - "maybe an employee handling witness protection, between you and Matt, could you stay in contact with that person? We could have a network all communicating with one another."

"We stay in contact with the embassy," said Amelia, "and through them, Aaron. But what about you? I have a feeling you won't be regularly visiting embassies."

Hermione's eyes widened, bright for the first time since before she'd gone off to sixth year. "I have an idea."

She asked Amelia for four two-Euro coins, which she fished out of her coin purse, then pulled a large magical coin - a Galleon, Amelia remembered - from her own bag. She explained that a group of students had used a coin-based method of passing messages to one another under a more oppressive Headmistress, but that she needed to experiment for a few minutes to make the coins function in Muggle hands. Amelia wasn't sure how it worked, but she was fascinated by the enchanting process. She dimly wished she had a better understanding of Latin; as it was, she could decipher voice and hand, and that was about it.

"I don't want you to worry more than necessary while I'm out there," she said, returning to English. "You'll each have one of these. If the coin is squeezed, and you whisper a phrase at the hand gripping it, that phrase will appear on the outer rim of the other coins, along with initials designating who whispered it: AH, HH, HG, AG, or CG," she said.

When the final questions had been answered and a full round of tests had been done on the coins, it was time for goodbye. The Grangers would be returning to their hotel room for what might shape up to be a restless night before their flight home.

Amelia hugged Aaron tight and reassured each other they would keep in daily contact until the Grangers' arrival in their new country. Her hug with Haley was equally warm, and she promised to call and talk to her about being a Muggle ("No-maj? Really?") with magical family. When it was her turn to hug Jack, she picked him up and squeezed him tightly to her bosom. "I love you, Jackie," she whispered in his ear. (He gurgled in reply.)

With a magical uncle and a magical cousin, each on a different side of the family, the odds were stacked in favor of Jack having magical abilities as well. She could only hope that Jack would grow up to live in a world where he was less discriminated against than Hermione - or that he could grow up at all, really.

After depositing Jack in his mother's arms, Amelia glanced around the living room, her own child conspicuously absent, along with her brother. Not a full minute later, she followed a stone-faced Aaron out of the kitchen. They had a hug that was more forceful than warm, and she heard her brother whisper, "Stay safe out there." Her daughter's reply was muffled by her uncle's shirt, but it could have been, "You, too."

* * *

A/N: The Harry Potter timeline is moved forward in time rather than the Criminal Minds timeline being moved backward in time. HP events of summer 1997 are moved forward to summer 2007. This is absolutely a multi-chapter story. Stay tuned.


	2. Chapter 2

"You have long since known that safe is a film skin thing." - Klara Piechocki, _The Death of Poppy Kusch_

* * *

The Grangers returned to England in the wee morning hours of the first of July. Amelia and Colin collapsed into bed in the rattiest, most comfortable pajamas they owned; they had eight long days ahead of them of packing and planning. They were resigned to the fact that their daughter considered this war a cause worth fighting for, worth dying for if it came down to it, and they were going to do what it took to stay safe until it was over.

They would be moving to France and living as florists Wendell and Monica Wilkins. (Colin - Wendell - had joked that maybe now children wouldn't run screaming at the very idea of them. Amelia/Monica hadn't thought it very funny.) Hermione already had entire identities built for the two of them, passports and all. Apparently she'd started plotting the idea months ago, enlisting some connections she found through the Order to obtain the papers and plant their information in the appropriate databases. Amelia found herself both intrigued and slightly frightened by this Order, and most of her questions about Hermione's _network_ got caught in her throat.

And good lord, wasn't Hermione's network strange?

Their daughter had warned them she'd be receiving a visitor on the morning of the second, and it turned out to be a tall, serious, dark-skinned man in a suit that Hermione referred to only as Kingsley. He was apparently some sort of liaison between the Muggle and magical governments and had been instrumental in connecting Hermione with the sort of person who discreetly creates false identities. He had also been instrumental in wiping the counterfeiter's memory and records of the job, although they _had_ still paid him (Colin had asked).

Realizing that they had been discussing counterterrorism measures in their parlor, Amelia grasped for a moment of normalcy. "Would you like a cup of tea?" was all that she could manage to ask at first.

He accepted, and it was over that cup of tea that she and her husband's real questions started coming out.

"How is the school suddenly under the control of these Death Eaters?" Colin asked bluntly. "I was under the impression that-" he glanced furtively over to her daughter, who had warned them about this ridiculous cultural norm- "You-Know-Who was afraid of the Headmaster. What changed? Why was he suddenly brave enough to kill the only man he was supposed to be afraid of?"

Kingsley looked down into his cup of tea, taken with a splash of milk but no sugar. He sighed, and for a brief moment it seemed he was carrying the weight of the entire world. "We don't know," he said finally. He wasn't looking at any of them, his gaze fixed instead on his cup. "It took us by surprise that he didn't come to battle and kill Dumbledore himself. We all believed that he would come out of hiding for an act like that, that he would take some kind of pride in doing it."

Amelia glanced at Hermione. "This sounds like something your Uncle Aaron might understand." Kingsley looked up and tilted his head, and she hurried to clarify. "He's a Muggle, like us, but he works in federal law enforcement in the States. He does behavioral analysis on serial killers, spree killers, kidnappers - people who need to be understood in order to be stopped." She shrugged and paused to take a sip of her own tea. "I'm sure there are psychological differences between Muggles and wizards, but you could still reach out to him and see what he thinks."

"Reach out to him?" The man's brow furrowed, and when he whipped his eyes to hers, Hermione winced. "You're in regular contact?"

Amelia realized that Kingsley didn't know about her daughter's coin project and grimaced at her in apology. Fortunately, after a technical explanation - and a reassurance that it was for emergency purposes only, and that she wasn't in the habit of providing Muggles with magical artifacts - he waved a hand in dismissal. "I wouldn't report you to this Ministry, you know that. I was mostly concerned about the likelihood of mail out of here getting checked by Death Eaters." He gave Hermione a smile, and she seemed relieved that she wasn't in trouble. "It's a nice method, secure and instantaneous. If I could give ten points to Gryffindor, I would," he added, clearly teasing her.

* * *

 _Brian Autrey_ , Hermione sent Aaron less than two days after returning to England. _Magical US Consul in Marseilles. HG_ She'd said she had connections in her own Ministry, and apparently they'd come through. Aaron was more than happy to play the authoritative FBI agent, the enforcer to her schemer. He and Matt planned their course of action - or, really, Aaron planned, and Matt provided the background information on the MACUSA that Aaron couldn't hope to find otherwise.

Although he could have called into a meeting from Quantico, Aaron went into the District, to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. After the meeting (topic: should they be pushing for more Arabic-fluent or more Farsi-fluent agents?), it was less than a ten minute cab ride to the State Department.

Matt was waiting near the curb for him, sweating in the August DC heat but not hiding in the WMATA bus shelter's shade. Aaron looked at him strangely. "You took the bus?"

Matt smirked. "Nope. Watch me, then copy." He glanced furtively around, and when he was sure no passing tourists were watching, he leaned against the bus shelter's plastic wall. The paper advertised bands Aaron had never heard of for show dates over two months ago. Matt smiled, and then he slid through the wall like it wasn't even there.

Aaron _knew_ that magic was real, but he wasn't sure it would ever stop being so damn unsettling.

After waiting for a group of tourists to walk far enough away, he followed his brother-in-law's lead. He held his breath as he passed through the wall, letting it out in one slow exhale once he was entirely on the other side. Matt had waited for him nearby and motioned for Aaron to follow him. They went through a door that was covered by some kind of force-field _thing_ , which tinged gold when Matt walked through it and blue when Aaron did the same.

The lobby they found themselves in was astonishing: Aaron got the feeling that they were underground, far below any subway rail lines, but the ceiling was high, and light seemed to be streaming in through skylights. He couldn't make out much other than white light through the windows, and he wondered how they ever got fresh air in this place. _Magic_.

Matt walked briskly to an information desk, then gestured for Aaron to take the lead. "Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, FBI," he introduced himself, flashing his badge. He gestured to his brother-in-law and added, "Matthew Brooks. We need to talk to the Under Secretary for Political Affairs." The man behind the desk gaped at him. " _Now._ "

"I - I'm sorry, sir, but Under Secretary Hammill is busy, and -" Aaron wondered if the man could tell that he wasn't a wizard. His money would be on _no,_ based on the fear he seemed to so easily inspire in the man. "I'll just go see if he has a moment," the man said, and practically sprinted away to, presumably, Hammill's office.

Matt gave Aaron a sidelong glance. "You weren't even trying, were you?"

"Some people get very nervous around law enforcement."

The man came back, looking slightly red in the face, and practically stuttered out, "Ms. Hammill will see you now." He gestured for them to follow him.

Hammill's office was starkly decorated with a high ceiling, white walls and furniture, and a few odd, spinning, magical devices littered on shelves. She glanced at one of the spinning objects when they entered and seemed to understand something about it that Aaron didn't, her posture changing to reflect relief but her expression growing bemused. Regardless of what she was thinking, she stood tall and confident and offered a hand to shake, although not before nodding at the desk man in dismissal.

"Jennifer Hammill," she said, shaking Aaron's hand firmly. "FBI?"

"Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner," he repeated. "This is my associate, Matthew Brooks."

Having shaken Matt's hand, she regarded the two with something akin to confusion. "Please, sit." They did, and the air in the room was thick with yet another something he didn't understand. "You're… not a wizard, Agent Hotchner."

 _Ah._ "No. Mr. Brooks, however, is, and my business is not No-Maj in nature."

A single pale brow arched. "Go on."

He confirmed with the Under Secretary that the State Department was aware of the growing unrest in Great Britain, then explained the presence of high-profile political refugees in Marseilles whose safety was of particular interest to the FBI. "I recommend a discreet security detail and regular check-ins," he said near the end of the explanation. "I'll be keeping in regular contact with them through the consul."

"What makes these No-Majes of such interest to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and to the FBI?" she asked.

"The wife is an American expat, and they're Hermione Granger's parents." Ms. Hammill's eyes widened at the implication. "We have intelligence that Granger is going to be involved with resistance efforts, and she's concerned about her parents becoming targets. She wants them relocated, and they want to be somewhere they speak the language, so they're headed to France."

Jennifer Hammill ran a hand through hair almost as pale as her skin. "I hope the continent is far enough away." She looked up, resolve in her eyes. "I'll get into contact with Brian Autrey, and we'll keep you in the loop."

"That went really well," Matt said once they were outside the building again. "Let's get shakes, I know a great place, it's like a fifteen minute walk."

* * *

Amelia had spent the last week trying to learn the difference between windflowers and poppies. While Colin seemed to be a natural florist, she was… struggling.

She had made a point to keep up with her daughter and brother, messaging them with the little Euro that Hermione had spelled - she had to actually bother to keep track of it now, since she could accidentally spend it here, unlike in England, and she had taken to carrying it in its own pocket in her wallet, just in case.

Hermione was, by her own account, having a splendid time with the Weasleys. One of the sons was getting married soon, and apparently it was a whirlwind of planning and thinly veiled family drama. Amelia was glad that Hermione was enjoying some relatively normal family moments in the middle of the… war.

It only struck her every now and then that her family was caught up in a _war_. Hermione was fighting in it, for god's sake. She and Colin had fled the country, not even alerted most of their family. Who knew when they would be able to go home?

She took a deep breath in, let it out slowly. Hermione would know. Hermione would tell her.

* * *

Hermione Granger was still recovering from the fact that Uncle Aaron and Aunt Haley had thrown a wrench in her plan for her parents. Not just a wrench - an entire toolbox. It would be okay, though; this plan seemed even more rock-solid than the one she'd come up with on her own. It had only taken three extra days of frantic planning from her and Uncle Aaron (mostly her, although he did what support work he could from his office in Quantico).

The magical United States and France turned out to be incredibly strong allies, and France's Ministry had given official statements welcoming political refugees. "There are innocent people who are suffering through terrorist acts and guerilla warfare on a scale not seen since 1981," Minister Jourdain had said in a press conference. "Those people, we welcome to France with open arms, regardless of nationality or blood status."

It was a bold move. They would be _destroyed_ if Voldemort won the war.

Fortunately, she didn't just have faith that good would prevail: she had the resolve of a Gryffindor and the research and planning skills of a Granger - and the criminal psychology books of Aaron Hotchner. He'd sent a number of them to her parents' house right before the relocation. Their theories aligned with Voldemort's actual behavior, and she was working to find a way to apply them. She and the boys were using every spare moment they could find to plan what they privately called the Horcrux Hunt.

While Hermione had been reading between the lines and knew the limited effectiveness of their own Ministry under Scrimgeour, it had been… underwhelming, to meet him, not least because he was interrupting a seventeen-year-old's attempt at a birthday party. He was, on the surface, a good choice for the position of Minister: an Auror, a verified warrior, who had proven comfortable enough with politics to take control of a country being racked by guerilla warfare and terrorist acts. Unfortunately, between the newspapers and their tense conversation, it was clear that he wasn't accomplishing much. He seemed to be more concerned about _appearing_ to address the problem than finding a way to actually do so.

When she talked to her Uncle Aaron about Scrimgeour's behavior, he seemed all too familiar with the type.

 _Some people,_ he told her through the coin, _want power more than they want to accomplish anything with it. AH_

"Then why bother having it?" Hermione asked, whispering into her Galleon. She wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. It was the middle of the night, and even in July, there could be a bit of a chill in the air. She was sure, between the chill and the time, that she was alone, but something in her told her to keep her voice low. If nothing else, she didn't want to explain to anyone why a branch of her Muggle family nearly six thousand kilometers away was aware of the war.

Uncle Aaron was taking his time replying. She waited, rubbing her arms and looking up into the huge expanse of country sky, until the coin began to warm in her hand.

 _I don't know,_ he admitted, _but it makes them happy._ More text appeared, curling around in Hermione's neat script. _Stay safe. AH_

"I will."

Hermione wondered how many more conversations with him would end the same way. At least Bill and Fleur's wedding was tomorrow, a relative oasis of normalcy and family drama in the middle of everything else.

* * *

While Hermione hadn't been the type of little girl to dream about her someday wedding, picturing the gown and the flowers and the man, she was still able to appreciate the beauty and emotional upheaval of a wedding - and wasn't Bill and Fleur's wedding incredible?

The decor was almost as beautiful as the bride; the chairs were as dainty and French as her cheekbones, and the long purple carpet she was walking down was a deep almost-violet, the white of her dress - and what a dress - made ever brighter against it. Golden flowers, golden balloons, golden chairs lent the event an elegant air, but the extravagance of the Delacour family was tempered somewhat by the more rustic atmosphere of the Burrow, leaving the ceremony feeling, overall, understatedly beautiful.

Hermione absolutely did not cry at their vows, and she absolutely did not have to pretend that they were tears of laughter from the balloons turning to birds of paradise when the two were pronounced man and wife.

The reception was full of light and wine and dancing - she even danced with Ron, whose hands settled uncertainly on either side of her waist. The two danced for three long songs, two fast ones and a slower one, and then they stumbled to Harry to make fun of the eyes he'd been making at Ginny all night.

It was the perfect night, until it wasn't.

"The Ministry has fallen," rang Kingsley's familiar voice. "Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

Just like that, the party was over. Everyone suddenly seemed sober, and guests Apparated away as quickly as they could decide where to go. Death Eaters appeared from nowhere, and Hermione took her boys to Tottenham Court Road.

Sitting in a little cafe, while the boys talked about the next steps forward (and marveled over her little bag), Hermione whispered into her coin, "Do not trust the British. Voldemort in charge of Ministry." The message was for everyone, but Uncle Aaron was the first to reply.

 _Do you want me to go nuclear? AH_

Before she could reply, she caught a glimpse of a wand, and suddenly the fight was on again.

Thousands of miles away, Aaron Hotchner sat in his office in Quantico, unsure of what path to take.


End file.
